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11 December 2008 @ 12:53 pm
Ferlinghetti - Coney Island of the Mind  

 

Tell me, what is your favourite poem?

 
 
 
theladyassassintheladyassassin on December 11th, 2008 06:18 pm (UTC)
Eliot's The Wasteland
Rimbaud's Une Saison En Enfer
Rilke's The Panther
(Deleted comment)
theparadisiac on December 11th, 2008 11:12 pm (UTC)
i really, really love this
(no subject) - idfightghandi on December 12th, 2008 01:27 am (UTC) (Expand)
flower_pekoe on December 11th, 2008 06:25 pm (UTC)

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

~Sylvia Plath
THE BELL JAR
thunderclap newman: eyes: christmashannahkarina on December 11th, 2008 06:30 pm (UTC)
Oh and this Ferlinghetti poem too

Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace

One grand boulevard with trees
with one grand cafe in sun
with strong black coffee in very small cups.

One not necessarily very beautiful
man or woman who loves you.

One fine day.



- Lawrence Ferlinghetti
eovaeova on December 12th, 2008 03:06 pm (UTC)
i love those poems by ferlinghetti in this post, but i've never heard of him before.. what's the best collection/book/etc to get?
:)
(Deleted comment)
yulia.likeantelope on December 12th, 2008 06:53 am (UTC)
siken is amazing.
you walk like a poemparishedlooove on December 11th, 2008 06:33 pm (UTC)
air and light and time and space
by: Bukowski



"–you know, I’ve either had a family, a job,

something has always been in the

way

but now

I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this

place, a large studio, you should see the space and

the light.

for the first time in my life I’m going to have

a place and the time to

create."



no baby, if you’re going to create

you’re going to create whether you work

16 hours a day in a coal mine

or

you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children

while you’re on

welfare,

you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown

away,

you’re going to create blind

crippled

demented,

you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your

back while

the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,

flood and fire.



baby, air and light and time and space

have nothing to do with it

and don’t create anything

except maybe a longer life to find

new excuses

for
.sandandthestars on December 11th, 2008 06:35 pm (UTC)
"I Remember" by Anne Sexton
By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color--no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was
the door to mine.

Gee, You're So Beautiful It's Starting to Rain by Richard Brautigan

Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsichord.
I want high school report cards
to look like this:

Playing with Gentle Glass Things
A

Computer Magic
A

Writing Letters to Those You Love
A

Finding out about Fish
A

Marcia’s Long Blonde Beauty
A+!

"The Orange" by Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
theparadisiac on December 11th, 2008 11:07 pm (UTC)
i love anne sexton's poetry!!
(no subject) - cinderellahips on December 13th, 2008 09:19 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Sarahslade_lust on December 11th, 2008 06:50 pm (UTC)
My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-
It gives a lovely light.


-Edna St. Vincent Millay
Technotjejprimary_sources on December 11th, 2008 06:54 pm (UTC)
William Ernest Henley. 1849–1903

Invictus

OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
surrealistessurrealistes on December 11th, 2008 06:56 pm (UTC)
john donne - a valediction: forbidding mourning

AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise, 5
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ; 10
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove 15
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss. 20

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so 25
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam, 30
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just, 35
And makes me end where I begun.

and allen ginsberg's 'howl' which is too long to post here.
homemadehumanhomemadehuman on December 11th, 2008 08:45 pm (UTC)
i love donne. thankyou for reminding me why!
Natashaliegbeest on December 11th, 2008 07:01 pm (UTC)
a poem by shakespear
about kisses.
Hayley Marilynreadallthepages on December 12th, 2008 02:49 am (UTC)
*Shakespeare
coeur_librecoeur_libre on December 11th, 2008 07:17 pm (UTC)
rainer maria rilke - the panther.



Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden, dass er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,
der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,
ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,
in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.

Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille
sich lautlos auf -. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,
geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille -
und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.


and one of many, many translations:

His glance has become so weary from pacing
Along the bars that it can hold no more.
It seems like a thousand bars encasing
Him, and beyond the thousand bars, no world.

The soft tread of steps strong and supple
Does in the tiniest of circles revolve,
It is like of dance of force around a middle,
In which, benumbed, there stands a great resolve.

Only sometimes like a curtain does the pupil
Silently slide open - then an image gains entry,
passes through members tensely still -
and in the heart, ceases to be.
coeur_librecoeur_libre on December 11th, 2008 07:25 pm (UTC)
oh, and "the torn rope" by brecht.

Der abgerissene Strick
kann wieder geknotet werden
er hält wieder, aber
er ist zerrissen.

Vielleicht begegnen
wir uns wieder,
aber da,
wo du mich verlassen hast
triffst du mich
nicht wieder.


The torn rope
Can be tied back together
It holds again, but
It's torn.

Maybe
We'll meet again
But
Where you left me
Is not where
You'll meet me again.
quaivoltairequaivoltaire on December 11th, 2008 07:19 pm (UTC)
Pretty much any poem by Richard Brautigan. He always makes me smile.
wolfhidewolfhide on December 11th, 2008 07:27 pm (UTC)
"'The time has come,' the Walrus said,
'To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings.'"

from Through the Looking Glass



hey_flowers on December 12th, 2008 06:07 am (UTC)
Yes!
I taught him how to fuck.i_love_gravity on December 11th, 2008 07:28 pm (UTC)
weird that i just tried to make this almost same exact post...

but mine is manmoth by elizabeth bishop.